


Jerktale 3: The Summoning

by O Hakubi (Koah)



Series: The Saga of the Circle of Jerks [3]
Category: City of Heroes
Genre: Activism, All Told A Pretty Average Day In Paragon City, Cameos, Comedy, Demons, Don't Have to Know Canon, Gen, Head Injury, Mongolians, Original Character(s), Robots, Someone Else's Character(s), Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-02
Updated: 2008-02-02
Packaged: 2017-12-03 13:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koah/pseuds/O%20Hakubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When two of the biggest gangs in Paragon City join forces, it's up to whoever notices and is not terribly busy at the time to stop them.  Unfortunately, it's the Jerks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jerktale 3: The Summoning

"Leaving?!" the mass of Jerks exclaimed.

Attorney of LAW nodded. "That's correct. Issues have arisen between our company and Pluto Industries. It seems that they've taken offense at the light in which their current downsizing has been cast and have decided to sue us for libel. Ergo, I have been ask to aid the company's legal defense team."

"But, butbutbutbut..." Male Man stammered, "you're the Wendy to our Lost Boys! You can't just leave!"

"They're right you know," the CEO of Earth added. "Clingy, but right. You've been more than helpful in keeping the squares off our backs. It's going to be a pain to find someone who could take over in your absence."

"That won't be necessary, sir." Setting her portfolio down on a nearby desk, she reached in and produced a thick, leather-bound book. "It's already been taken care of," she said, handing the book to CEO.

"'Librum Lex Maleficum,' by Rickert Dickersonn. Interesting." He thumbed through the pages. "Is this a first edition?"

"Second edition. The first edition had a very small print run; the writer was boiled alive for sorcery by the Inquisition after they discovered he had bound the books in human skin, to say nothing of his other pastimes."

"Demonology?"

"Law." She adjusted her glasses. "Simply follow the instructions in that book and you should be able to obtain a suitable stand-in."

"I see. Good luck on the case." He pointed to a group of unnamed Jerks. "All right, you guys get to work moving the pews in the Church of Mario. You two, find some chalk and that sacrificial knife we found in that Circle of Thorns hideout. The rest of you follow me. We're moving the bathroom god's altar."

* * *

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh wgah'nagl fhtagn! Ia! Ia!"

"I can't believe I'm missing the New York Custom Knife Show for this," Taffer muttered as he held the candelabra aloft.

"If you have the time to flap your gums you have the time to chant," Time Capsule replied.

"Getting the goat wasn't enough for you?"

Before Time Capsule could respond the aforementioned goat, which had previously been decapitated, gutted and placed atop the stone altar, was consumed in a burst of flame and brimstone. The lit candles placed around the altar were snuffed out by an unnatural gust of wind, and the chanting vigilantes fell silent as a low howling sound came from below them, slowly rising in volume. As the howling grew louder other moans and screams began to issue forth, until the room was filled with a cacophony of agonized wailing that caused the very walls of the chapel to tremble. The large chalk seal in front of the altar began glowing before a column of sickly orange-red light erupted from the center, the wailing reaching an ear-splitting crescendo before both it and the light abruptly faded to nothingness.

As the dust settled, a feminine figure stepped out of the seal and approached the Jerks. Her skin was a deep crimson and two horns, similar to a ram's, curled up and back from her forehead. Her hair was an odd shade of pinkish-purple, shoulder-length and parted down the middle, barely brushing against the collar of the black three-piece suit that she wore. Coming to rest several feet from CEO, she looked him over with eyes that burned with an infernal light. "The CEO of Earth, I presume."

CEO nodded. "...and you are?"

The demoness pulled a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses out of her pocket and slid them onto the bridge of her nose with preternatural grace before bowing deeply before him. "Seventh council of the third circle of Berith's court. The Arch Attorney. I look forward to working for your company."

"This isn't for the company."

"No?"

"No. It's more for a vaguely anarchic mass of professional troublemakers that fight crime in their free time. We've been having problems ever since the Iron Man Tanning Competition we held in the Terra Volta reactor a few weeks back. You have your work cut out for you."

She gave him a sly grin. "I'm very confident that I can handle whatever may transpire, sir. Defending your organization from whatever baseless accusations may be directed towards it would be a welcome reprieve when contrasted with some of my... prior cases."

* * *

"Furthermore, Mr. Sunderland has testified that the defendant repeatedly and deliberately murdered his ex-wife. The causes of death were all linked to weapons that the defendant was seen with at the time of his arrest, and her blood was found on the defendant's clothing. All of this proves the defendant's guilt!"

The Arch Attorney shrugged and shook her head. "You're ignoring the facts, Wright. The victim was the same person in all three murders. We've already established that all three of them were identical to a woman with no siblings that was murdered three years prior by Mr. Sunderland himself."

The dark-haired lawyer opposite her slammed his hands down on the table before him. "OBJECTION! Miss Attorney, that information is irrelevant to this case!"

"HOLD IT!" she shouted, pointing back at him. "This information is anything but irrelevant! After Mr. Sunderland murdered his wife, his guilt resulted in the creation of the defendant as well as the three victims for the expressed purpose of fulfilling Mr. Sunderland's desire for punishment. The defendant was not acting of his own free will, but rather of Mr. Sunderland's. Therefore, he cannot be held accountable for his actions!"

The judge rapped his gavel upon the bench. "Order! This court has reached a verdict. The court finds the defendant, Mr. Pyramid Head... not guilty!"

* * *

"...in car number 65," the announcer boomed, "Boris Feltz..."

As the dark-haired twentysomething watched his pit crew go through one final check of his car, a very disheveled-looking man in a suit ran up to the barricade beside him. "Wilkins!" Boris said enthusiastically, smiling at the newcomer. "Come to wish me luck?"

Wilkins paused for a moment to catch his breath. "Mr. Feltz, this is insane! Please reconsider!"

"I appreciate your concern, Wilkins, but my mind's been made up for ages. I've already come this far, and besides, the car cost me two hundred thousand dollars alone."

"But it's... it's irrational! I could understand sponsoring a driver, but becoming one is just..."

Boris sighed and turned to look wistfully into the distance as several members of the pit crew gathered behind him and began humming a slow, inspiring song. "Ever since I was a child I dreamed of becoming a driver in the auto racing circuit. Oh, I've accomplished much in my short life - getting my MBA, becoming a multi-millionaire by 25 - but I've always felt unfulfilled, even with all my wealth. But finally... finally I have the opportunity to live out my dream." He turned back towards Wilkins. "...and isn't that what America is all about? Opportunity?"

The inspiring speech did little to change Wilkins' opinion on the matter, but he couldn't help but feel somewhat moved by it. "Sir..."

"Now if you'll excuse me," he said, donning his helmet, "I have a race to win."

* * *

"Good morning, Mr. Feltz," the doctor said as he entered the room. "How are we this morning?"

Boris, who was seated on the edge of a hospital bed, pointed to the reinforced half-helmet and chin guard he was currently wearing. "You stuck a helmet on my head," he deadpanned.

"Yes, well, there's a very good reason for that." Reaching out, he turned on the room's light box and hung an x-ray of Boris' head on one of its hooks. "If you'll look at the venous sinus here," the doctor said, pointing along the inside of the skull, "you'll notice that it's perfectly normal."

"...yes, and?"

"...and you've managed to survive seventeen cases of severe head trauma in the span of three months, eleven of which would have sent the average person into a coma."

"Maybe they just haven't been as severe as they should be."

"Dermal abrasions along the frontal and parietal lobes suggest otherwise. It's almost as if the injuries were being inflicted, but somehow your body didn't acknowledge that they actually happened. There's no traces of residual magic, your biological structure is that of an average human male, a genetic scan revealed no dormant metahuman abilities... to be perfectly frank, Mr. Feltz, we have no idea as to how you came out of all these crashes as you did."

"So if I can no-sell head injuries," he snapped, "then why the hell do I need this helmet?"

"Because your head is of great interest to the medical community, and until we can figure out the cause of your 'talent' you're going to need to keep it on to ensure that nothing out of the ordinary happens to it."

"What if I refuse?"

"You can't."

"Why not?"

"Because we locked it on," he replied matter-of-factly, turning to leave. "Have a nice day."

* * *

Boris stormed out of the hospital, fuming at the indignity of it all. Yes, there was something out of the ordinary going on; he could accept that. What he couldn't deal with, however, was being subjected to the humiliation that he was currently undergoing. There were literally thousands, if not tens of thousands of people (and people analogues) with conditions far more deserving of study that went unnoticed, or at the very least didn't have to walk around with a-

"Nice helmet!" the Hellion jeered. "Did special ed class let out early?" Turning to his fellow gang members he shouted, "hey guys! Come check out Captain Concussion here!" Snickering to himself, he turned back just in time to have Boris' fist connect with his jaw.

* * *

"A couple minutes later this huge guy in a suit walks buy, and it so happens that he's the CEO of Earth. I tell him my story and he asks me if I'd like to work for him. I agree, and the rest is history." Finishing up his story, Boris Feltz - hereafter known as Cpt. Concussion - took a sip of his beer.

"Wow," the Japanese woman sitting next to him said with a slight lack of enthusiasm, "that's quite a story."

He nodded. "So how about you, Yurika? I bet you've some stories to share."

Yurika stared at him silently for a second before speaking. "Let me just make a couple points here." She held up a hand, ticking the points off as she made them. "One, I'm the bouncer, not a customer. Two, you've been staring at my chest for the past ten minutes. Three, the bar closed twenty minutes ago and I was only humoring you in the hopes that you would leave a bigger tip for the bartender."

Conc shook his head. "Fair enough." Reaching into his back pocket, he retrieved his wallet and laid a bill down on the bar before getting up off his stool and heading towards the door. After a few steps he came to a stop and turned back towards the woman. "For the record, it's sort of hard _not_ to stare at them. After all, they're ridiculously hu-"

She cracked her knuckles as two coronas of energy flared up around her hands. "Get out," she said through gritted teeth, "before I _throw_ you out."

* * *

As translated from the original Chinese poem. Character translation is on the left, interpretation is on the right. Some of the words do not have exact English translations (or equivalents) on their own, and are thus written in pinyin:
    
    
      
    
    Our Land Distant Past  
    
    Chance Around Three Ten					In our country's distant past, or about thirty years ago  
    
    Sign Heaven Stars Align  
    
    Birth Child Time Legend					Heaven's favor in the stars, a child born of prophesy  
    
    Earth Heaven Soul Bless  
    
    Child Gift Spirit Talent				Soul blessed by earth and heaven, the child's gift of arcane talent  
    
    Royal Call Teacher Spirit  
    
    Legend Learn Ancient Skill				A royal summons of teachers, to tutor the chosen one in ancient ways  
    
    Zero Wisdom Learn Fast  
    
    School Scholar Nothing Art				Slow in thought, fast in in study, learning Confucianism and Dadaism  
    
    Seven Year Journey Train  
    
    Monastery Strike Ninja What				A pilgrimage to train at seven years, ninjas attacked his monastery  
    
    Child Return Family Dead  
    
    Yellow Barrier Pig Ask					The child returned to a dead family, police cordons and questioning  
    
    Fear Accuse Begin A-Team  
    
    Flee Our Land Ocean					Fearful of wrongful arrest for the crime, ran away across the ocean  
    
    Two Ten Wander World  
    
    Rest City Absurd Clothes				Twenty years the child wandered the world, finding himself in Paragon  
    
    Normal Seven Chi Man  
    
    Strange Speak Monkey Fire				Accepting of a seven-foot man, odd in speech with magic fire monkeys  
    
    Name Chong Chi Chey  
    
    Fear Less Race Idea					He is called Mystic Mongol, striking fear into lesser stereotypes  
    

* * *

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Cpt. Concussion said.

"You're just jealous because you don't have an entourage of poets recording your deeds," Mystic Mongol replied smugly.

* * *

The base of the Atlas statue is, at any given moment, home to dozens of people, the majority of whom are registered heroes. Despite the wide variety of eclectic clothing and physical features there was one near the steps leading to the statue that stood out from the group. This was in no small part due to the fact that she made a great show of it: Standing barefoot atop a crate and dressed in a filthy pair of jeans and an equally filthy grey T-shirt, the dark-skinned woman shouted (and had been shouting for quite some time) a variety of politically charged epithets and diatribes through the megaphone she held in one hand while waving a sign which read "WHAT ABOUT THE CHILDREN?" in the other.

"Your delegation of judicial authority to people with little to no training in any sort of law enforcement is irresponsible, doubly so when hundreds of thousands of homeless wander the streets and city boroughs such as Venice and Baumton remain in shambles! Furthermore, these 'supergroups'-" She paused to make quotation marks in the air with her fingers. "...blatantly flout state and national affirmative action laws. How much longer are we going to tolerate this rich white boy's club defending a city built on diversity and tolerance? How... oh, to hell with it."

Dropping the sign and producing a detonator from her pants pocket, she flipped it open and pushed the button. The concealed charges beneath the feet of the Atlas statue detonated, causing the foundation of the statue to crumble and sending the mammoth sculpture teetering backwards towards city hall. Four seconds later an enormous mob of cape and spandex-clad men and women swooped in, propping the statue up long enough for a smaller group to re-assemble the stonework with various feats of super-speed and geomancy. No more than ten seconds after the explosions, the statue was back to its original form and position as all parties involved returned from whence they came. "Damn it!"

"Excuse me. I couldn't help but notice you causing property damage and mayhem."

She whirled, finding herself face-to-face with the CEO of Earth, an entourage of Jerks behind him. "Well, if it isn't another lackey of the bourgeoisie oligarchy, come to oppress the voice of dissent!" Jumping off the crate (and finding herself face-to-waist with the aforementioned CEO), she looked up at him in defiance and folded her arms across her chest. "This is exactly the sort of thing I've come to expect from the city's borderline fascist regime."

"I believe," CEO said, after a moment of pondering the diminutive protester, "that you have us confused for another, less hip group of people."

"Oh really?" She tapped her foot on the pavement. "Because it seems to me that you're another one of those rich white boy's clubs."

"We're pretty diverse, truth be told. There's a few alternate religions," he began, gesturing towards Mystic Mongol and Arch Attorney, "...alternate lifestyles..." he continued with a nod towards Male Man.

Male flexed. "They're very accommodating towards my no pants-ness. As a matter of fact, when they hired me they donated all their old vinyl chairs to charity!"

"See?"

"What about you?" she demanded.

"What about me?"

"You, the epitome of corporations run amok? The pinnacle of corporate meddling in proletariat affairs? The icon of subjugation, bent on devouring everything in your path until the entire world is run from your boardroom?"

"The entire world _is_ run from my boardroom."

"You see?!" she shouted, gesturing towards him and looking about in expectance of displays of shock and outrage from bystanders, of which there were none. "Even now they've grown arrogant in their power, to-"

"No, I run the Earth."

The tiny activist paused, anger quickly giving way to bewilderment. " _The_ Earth?"

"Yes."

"The one with the plants and trees and all the cute animals?"

"The one you're standing on, yes."

Her eyes widened as the full impact of his words sank in, and she let out an overjoyed squeal as she latched onto his leg, hugging it tightly. "Oh, WOW. I'm your biggest fan!"

CEO raised his leg and shook it slightly in a futile attempt to dislodge her. "That's nice."

"You need a crowbar, boss?" the Taffer asked.

"I'll get one from the lab when we get back to the Jerk Hole," he replied. Looking down at her, he added, "at least she's not trying to drop statues on us."

* * *

In the course of history it has been observed that, if a significant enough threat is posed to rival groups, those groups will set aside their differences in order to pursue a mutually beneficial goal; more specifically, the elimination of the threat. The stage for these alliances can span entire continents or a mere handful of city boroughs, and it was in the latter case that a particularly unique alliance was forged.

In a distant section of Kings Row there was an aging, decrepit warehouse. Through some chance of fate it remained untouched by the various criminal elements in the city throughout the years, and by extension, the heroes who fought them, eventually going ignored by the majority of patrols. Had one taken the time to investigate they would have seen a rather unique sight: Two gangs - one Hellions, the other Skulls - standing about among the rusted metal shelves and grime-covered shipping crates. Though each normally considered the other their mortal enemy in the gang wars which plagued parts of the city, they showed no signs of hostility apart from various looks of distrust and a few muttered words to their peers.

Beyond this motley crew was an empty break room, where a four of their leaders underwent the final preparations for a fell rite. The room smelt strongly of incense, with smoke and dust hanging heavy in the air, shrouding everything in a thick haze. Most of the tables, chairs and vending machines had long since been removed; in their place was an altar, hastily erected out of a metal shipping crate inscribed with chalk markings, with candles and arcane relics spread across the top.

One of the Hellion leaders flipped through a yellowed, leather-bound tome set on a table before him. "Yeah, this is no problem," he said, tapping one of the pages with a gloved finger. "Lemme double-check this just to make sure... elements of flame - that's us..." He glanced at his fellow Fallen. "Elements of death - that's you," he continued, pointing to the two Bone Daddies. "...and some sort of offering, which would be all that crap on the altar."

"Crate," one of the Skulls corrected him.

"If I say it's an altar then it's a goddamned altar."

"Whatever. At least my old place _had_ an altar and not just some shitty box."

"Yeah, until some capes showed up and wrecked the place after you screwed this up."

The Skull narrowed his eyes in anger behind his mask. "Hey Agni, we wouldn't even be here if you didn't beg us to fill in for one half of the ritual's components for you."

Agni glared back at him. "...and _we_ wouldn't be here if you didn't beg us to fill in for one half of the ritual's components for _you_."

"Me?" he nearly shouted. "Begging one of _you_ for help? You want to come closer and say that to my-"

Fortunately for both parties their seconds-in-command were somewhat more level-headed, stepping in and separating them before they could come to blows. "Orcus, chill out," the Skull lieutenant pleaded. "We can argue about this later."

Orcus glanced down at his gang-mate before returning his gaze the Hellion. After a few tense seconds he rolled his eyes, sauntering backwards. "Tch, whatever. The sooner we finish this the sooner we can take over."

"Okay," Agni said, cracking his knuckles as he turned his attention back to the book, "just stand back and watch a master at work." Raising his hands above his head he shouted, "oh Lady Bathory! We call upon the powers of hellfire and death to awaken you! So... shit, uh... wake up and lead us, or something!"

Orcus facepalmed. "Someone please tell me that this fuckwit knows what he's doing," he mumbled.

His comment did not go unnoticed by Agni, who turned to face him as the two lieutenants looked on. "One of us does, which is why you came to me to do it right. Most of the time these don't even speak good English, so the only thing that matters is if you say their name right and have some decent relics to give them."

"Yeah, but she's from France or something, right? So she'd have to speak English."

"I'm Slovakian, you oaf."

All four gang members jumped and immediately turned towards the voice. The artifacts were gone, and in their place sat a slender, nude, raven-haired woman with two black feathered wings handing from her back. Her body and wings were positively covered with fresh blood, providing a gruesome sort of modesty for her presence. Standing up, she looked at them condescendingly. "Now tell me who you are and why you've called me here."

"Uh..." Agni "uh"ed.

The woman sighed. "Do you need a moment to collect your thoughts?"

Orcus stepped forward, shoving Agni aside. "This is Agni, and I'm Orcus, and we have brought you back so you can lead our two gangs to victory against our enemies!"

"Gangs," she deadpanned.

"Yes. We're not going to be small-time forev-"

"Not armies, or cults, but... gangs."

"Yeah."

After a few seconds she said, "very well. Where am I?"

"Paragon City."

"Paragon City?"

"Rhode Island. In Amer-"

"I _know_ where it is. I was questioning your decision to-" She rolled her eyes. "Of course, I've forgotten to whom I'm speaking." She shook her hands for a few seconds to clean off any excess blood on them, then lifted the tome off the table. Flipping through it, she then turned it around and handed it to Orcus and Agni, pointing to one of the paragraphs. "Read that."

The two gang members exchanged concerned looks, glancing worriedly at the irate countess before the Hellion began reading. "'The Countess Elizabeth Bathory was known to bathe in the blood of young virgins in order to retain her beauty. Because of this, it is strongly suggested that the ritualists summon her in a region with the same or have a supply of virgins on hand to accommodate her.'"

"That's entirely true. SO WHY IN TUROZCI'S NAME DID YOU SUMMON ME _HERE?!_ "

"Uh, w-we kind of-" Agni stammered.

She leaned forward, staring intently at him as her wings twitched slightly. "Yeeeees?"

"We kinda figured there'd be a, um, a lot of them and they'd be easy to... to find, right? So we-"

"So you didn't even attempt to find any, simply choosing to assume that I would be more than capable of doing so. Correct?"

"U-uh..."

"CORRECT?"

"Y-yeah..."

"I see." Bathory straightened up, folding her arms across her chest. "So you chose not only to neglect this very critical bit of information, but to spite it by performing the ritual in a city that makes the Castro district look like Tehran. Have you not heard _any_ of the rumors about the, shall we say, inclinations of the majority of the city's female defenders?" Noting their confused expressions she shook her head and continued. "The netherworld manages to be better informed on a city's populace than the people who live there. This should surprise me but somehow it doesn't."

"Well, y'know, we could, uh-" Agni began.

"Find them for you," Orcus interrupted. "We have enough people under us to find virgins for you."

"I see. You're both very fortunate that I'm a patient woman. Most others in my situation would have simply reduced you to charred husks and returned from whence they came." Muttering to herself, she added, "and I'm still trying to determine why I haven't done the same."

The Hellion raised his hand. "Question. How do we find out if they're virgins?"

Lady Bathory sighed loudly, massaging her forehead with one hand. "You may as well come out and simply _ask_ them. In this era I'm almost certain they would consider it charming. I don't care, just..." She shooed them away with her other hand. "Just get out of my sight, and don't return until you find some."

"Just... just any, or-"

"Mildly unattractive or better." Before he could say anything she added, "use your better judgment on this, please. Now go."

With that the second-rate summoners left the break room, and Lady Bathory returned to her perch on the crate. "Such a waste. Still," she said to herself, straightening out her blood-matted hair, "I should be grateful that they simply want power and not... _other_ things..."

* * *

As they exited the warehouse, Agni grinned at Orcus. "Dude, she _totally_ wants me."

* * *

Countess Crey leaned back in her plush leather office chair and steepled her fingers, eyeing the assortment of scientists and businessmen that stretched down either side of the boardroom table. "State-sponsored vigilantes are destroying our labs and offices, arresting our employees and spreading slanderous rumors of our supposed wrong-doings. But worst of all, despite everything we've done, second-quarter profits are only up 2.3 percent. I demand explanations."

There was silence for a few seconds before a balding, bespectacled man cleared his throat. "The latest version of our company's OS has been delayed several weeks. There's still some bugs regarding frequent crashes, hardware and software incompatibility and numerous security holes."

"Have your programmers announce that it's been delayed two to three months, then 'leak' a bare-bones version of the working OS onto one of those..." She gesticulated, looking for the right word. "...those file-sharing programs that they use, like that... Kazoo. Then begin taking pre-orders of the program as usual."

"Yes, Countess."

She turned to another man seated on her left. "How is the Metahuman Development Project? Has there been any further progress?"

"The Metahuman Development Project has hit a few snags. For starters, we've finally determined that subjecting normal humans to high levels of electricity only causes metahuman abilities in approximately 0.00001% of the subjects. The rest of them tend to... die."

"What about that other project, the..." Picking up a stack of papers in front of her, she flipped through the pages. "'Hypodermal apinae implants.' Was that successful?"

"Oh, the bee injections? The experiment was a success, but unfortunately the subject has escaped one of our facilities and, in all likelihood, has acquired a hero license and is waging a one-man war to bring our company to its knees. The usual."

The Countess let out a low, barely audible groan as she dropped the papers back onto the table and leaned back in her chair. "...and what of the hybrids? Has there been any further progress on them?"

"As a matter of fact I've been overseeing that project personally, and I can assure you that they're coming along admirably."

Another scientist further down the table leaned towards the woman sitting next to him and whispered, "he likes taking his work home with him, if you catch my drift."

"I'm sorry," the man said, "did you say something?"

"Nothing, Davey-kins."

"What the hell did you just call me?"

"Someone here sounds like they don't want their job." Noting the abrupt silence brought about by this statement, the Countess allowed herself a small smirk before returning to her more serious facade. "Regardless of all the progress you claim to have made, there are still two concerns that must be addressed, both of which are tied to the other: The first is the loss of profit. The second is the poor light in which certain media outlets and the vigilantes portray us. Now," she said, leaning forward, "who has ideas on how to solve this problem?"

There was a long, pregnant pause before a younger gentleman near the end of the table cleared his throat nervously. "Actually, we, ah... the boys down in the robotics division did have a plan..."

* * *

  
[SCENE: An average-looking middle-class living room. A bored, average-looking middle-class man slumped in an easy chair, propping his head up with one hand and holding a remote in the other. An angry yet equally average-looking middle-class woman is standing by his side wagging her finger at him. There's no sound in the scene, though from the looks of it the woman seems extremely angry about something.]

ANNOUNCER: Tired of your wife's constant nagging? Fed up with your spouse demanding actual attention and respect? Had it up to here with women insisting on having their own opinions? 

[The man turns toward the screen, sighs and nods.] 

Worry no more. The LoveBot 6500 is here! 

[The man breaks out into a wide grin as he palms his wife's face and shoves her off-screen. CUT TO: A shot of a spindly, feminine, blue-hued android with a 60's bouffant hairdo, a vacant smile and two tall antennas pointing up and back from where her ears would be.] 

ANNOUNCER: For just 134 easy payments of $1499.99, the LoveBot 6500 will cater to your every want, need and desire with a smile and not even a mention of a sense of self. Ask about overnight shipping! 

[CUT TO: The living room again, with the man standing in front of the easy chair with his arm around the LoveBot. He gives the screen a knowing nod and a thumbs-up.] 

ANNOUNCER: The LoveBot 6500: She'll shower you with love! [faster] Love contains radiation. Do not let the LoveBot 6500 shower you with love. Do not taunt the LoveBot 6500. Do not reject the LoveBot 6500.  


* * *

"I think," Dr. Science said, leaning up against a crate covered with Crey Corporation logos, "that someone here owes science an apology."

"I think," the Powerleveler replied, "that some _fukin nub_ owes me two hundred grand!"

* * *

"...which is why the primarily white government can get away with suspending habeas corpus."

Cpt. Concussion, Mystic Mongol and the Tiny Activist were no more than twenty minutes into their patrol of Kings Row, and already Conc was regretting trying to start a conversation with her. "To be fair, most of the criminals in this city are white. Are you saying this is some sort of reverse discrimination?"

"You're ignoring the socioeconomic effects this has on the lower-class."

"...right." Turning to Mongol he asked, "couldn't you say something to her about this?"

"I have yet to fully understand the ways of your peoples, Conc."

"Yet to fully- ...you're a naturalized citizen, Chong."

"Yes, and yours is a rich and strange culture, and I am yet inexperienced in your ways of fast cars and hot women and thus cannot participate in this enriching discussion."

"I hate you," he grumbled. Looking away, he did a double take as he caught a glimpse of two Skulls engaged in conversation with two young women down a nearby alley. Coming to a quick halt, he gestured to the other vigilantes. "Hey, take a look at this."

"Take a look at what?" Mongol asked, backpedaling.

Conc pointed down the alley. "This."

"They're getting their mack on."

"Yes, but this is the fourth time today that I've seen something like this."

"So?"

"...and it's only been Skulls and Hellions. Don't you think it's strange that two of the city's gangs would suddenly decide to try and find girlfriends? Two gangs that are normally rivals, no less?"

"Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, four times is a plot which could threaten the well-being of every man, woman and child in the city, huh?" Mongol pulled a cellular phone out of the inside of his robes, tapping a few buttons before raising it to his ear. "Let me ask a few people."

Tiny folded her arms across her chest and scoffed. "You're simply trying to justify the demonization of sexuality. Typical fundamentalist fear-mongering..."

"They're perpetuating the chauvinistic notion that women are objects to to be won," Mongol remarked off-handedly. "Maxwell! Hi! How's things?"

With an enraged cry the Tiny Activist sprinted down the alley, vaulting off a trashcan and leaping into the air. Time seemed to slow down as the Skull closest to her turned towards the shout in confusion, only to be knocked face-first into the wall as her foot collided with the side of his head in a vicious roundhouse kick.

Back on the sidewalk Conc tapped his foot impatiently, dividing his attention between the savage beating Tiny was giving the two Skulls and various bits of the conversation that Mongol was engaged in. After a few minutes he snapped his cellular phone shut and slid it back into the folds of his robe, with the activist walking out of the alley shortly thereafter. "Well?" Conc asked.

"That Maxwell guy in Founder's Falls said it was a Nemesis plot."

Conc let out an annoyed sigh and rubbed his eyes. "He thinks _everything_ is a Nemesis plot."

"You place too little trust in paranoid government agents. If you're really concerned about it, just ask the two gang members."

"You mean the two gang members that were beaten senseless by TA?"

Mongol looked down the alley at the two Skulls, who were currently stuffed head-first into a dented garbage can. "At least we don't need to worry about brutality lawsuits."

"All right," Conc stated, "it's a simple enough matter to find others to question, especially around here."

"They'd start to get suspicious if they discovered that we were on their trail, though," Tiny pointed out.

"Which we wouldn't have to worry about if _someone_ didn't beat them senseless," he retorted.

"My commitment to combating social injustices comes before working for the rich white man's club." She glared. "Unlike _someone_ I know."

"Fortunately," Mongol said, stepping between the two, "I have a plan, much like Hannibal from your country's 'The A-Team.'"

"So what's the plan?" Conc asked.

"A very cunning one." He paused for dramatic emphasis before pointing. Dramatically. "Deploy the LoveBot!"

* * *

"Thanks for the delivery, Arch," Mongol said.

"I must admit," Arch Attorney began, "that this is an original plan, though even taking the decayed education system of the city into consideration the logistics of it seem highly untenable."

The LoveBot pirouetted in place, her newly-purchased skirt billowing out around her. "How-do-I-look?" she asked, giggling.

Mongol gave her a thumbs-up before turning back to Arch. "Untenable, albeit very clever. Besides, what's the point of having a nuclear-powered android Dutch wife if you can't make some use of her?" Looking down the sidewalk he nodded to Conc, who was carrying a squirming, duct tape-wrapped Tiny over his shoulder. "You find any?"

"There's two guys talking half a block south of here. Whatever it is that they're up to, they're a part of it."

"How are you so certain?" Arch asked.

"They hit on Tiny when we went by."

She let out a growl.

"It's not righteous indignation. It's you letting your temper get the best of you."

"Mffn mff."

"Excellent!" Mongol exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. "Snap to it, Lovebot."

"Will-do!" With that, she sauntered down the sidewalk from whence Conc and TA came.

"Mmmm mmffmmm ffmfffmm mmf, mmmmffmm fmmmffm ffmmmf," Tiny said.

Mongol wagged his finger at her. "Only when you learn to behave."

"Rrrrr..."

* * *

"So she went down with _one shot?_ "

"Yeah, I was pretty surprised too. Usually they're bulletproof or not in this dimension or wearing armor or reading your mind or _something_."

"Maybe she was Immune To Everything But Bullets Woman."

"Yeah, that's the funny part. I checked her hero license, right, and-"

"Hey-there-cuties."

The two Hellions jumped, reflexively reaching for their weapons as they spun to face the newcomer in anticipation of the worst. What they weren't expecting was a slim woman in a short skirt and belly shirt, posing coquettishly. The bluish skin tone, robotic voice and antennae did not, evidently, factor into matters in the least.

"I'm-not-from-these-parts," she said. "Do-you-think-you-could-show-me-around?"

The two Hellions exchanged glances, the nearer of the two smiling roguishly at her from beneath the bandanna covering his mouth. "Lookin' for a good time, huh? There's a club over on the east side that I think would be right up your alley. You interested?"

"Sounds-like-fun." LoveBot smiled alluringly, activating her charm emitters. Unfortunately, due to a design oversight her charm emitters were linked to her primary reactor core, resulting in her bombarding the area with several dozen sieverts of radiation. Thoroughly irradiated, the Hellions swayed unsteadily on their feet before vomiting up blood and collapsing in a heap, their skin beginning to blacken in irregular patches.

LoveBot stared down at the two thugs and sighed, twirling her hair on her index finger as she walked away.

* * *

Meanwhile, the others had been watching these events unfold from a vantage point situated behind a heavy stone wall. Or rather, three of them; Arch Attorney was busy chatting intently on her cell phone.

"I hope this is worth it," Tiny Activist muttered. "I don't even want to think about the impact she's having on the environment."

"Don't worry," Mongol stated. "It's not like radiation is dangerous, right?"

"Then why are we hiding behind a two-foot thick concrete wall?" Conc asked.

"Pure coincidence."

"No, I'm not driving through a tunnel," Arch told the other party, "that was simply due to a burst of radiation. Extremely common, as a matter of fact." She paused, adjusting her sunglasses. "Oh, is that so? The address would be... I see. They've no idea of what they've done, then." She chuckled. "No, of course _they_ don't know either. You'd be surprised as to how little heed is actually paid to the signs of the impending zombiepocalypse. They still blame Astoria on those-"

"Zombiepocalypse?"

She snapped the phone shut and slid it into her jacket pocket in one swift motion, giving Cpt. Concussion a dirty look over the top of her sunglasses. "It's quite rude to listen in on other people's conversations."

"Yeah Boris," Mongol added, "what's with that?"

LoveBot rounded the corner of the wall, pausing to smooth out her skirt before stating, they-said-it-was-in-the-west."

"That narrows it down some." Drawing a marker and map from his sleeve, he circled part of the Kings Row district and marked off several intersections. "If we post people on these roofs... roofs? Rooves?"

"Roofs," Tiny corrected him.

"Yours is a strange and alien language to me. Back on topic, if we post people on roofs near these intersections-" He pointed to them on the map. "...we'll be able to watch who goes where and with whom. From that we can figure out where they're working out of as well as having great places to hold barbecues while we wait."

"They're operating out of 731 Valor Street," Arch said matter-of-factly, "next to the abandoned loom factory."

Mongol pursed his lips. "Soooo... no chance of barbecues?"

She shook her head. Mongol pouted.

"...and you would know this, how?" Conc asked.

"It so happens that the Hellions and I have some... mutual acquaintances. Ones that weren't particularly enthusiastic about their prior positions, we'll say."

"'Mutual acquai-" Conc growled. "Why the hell didn't you say that you could find this out earlier?"

"You never asked."

"...fine, whatever. Let's go."

As they strode away Conc added, "you'd think that someone would have been paying attention to this besides me. Doesn't this city have a gang crimes division, or some expert on their methodologies or... _something?_ "

* * *

The ex-Hellion reached up and adjusted his cap, his metal arm glinting in the light. "Sorry guys," Fire Arm said, "not my department any more. Besides, they're all grey to- URGH!"

As his body was hurled backwards from the concussive force of the blast, Positron swooped down to street level to survey his handiwork. "Try and steal _my_ space, will you?"

"Positron!" Valkyrie shouted. "He was a registered hero!"

"...oh, fudge-bunnies."

* * *

Twenty minutes and one short climb later, four Jerks found themselves assembled on the roof of a decrepit warehouse. The fact that there were four present and not five was a point of consternation for the others.

"Where's LoveBot?" Mongol asked.

"...I thought you were watching her," Conc replied.

"I thought _you_ were watching her."

Conc looked at Mongol. Mongol looked at Conc. Conc looked at Arch. Arch shook her head. Arch looked at Tiny. Tiny shrugged. Arch and Tiny looked at Conc. Conc, Arch and Tiny looked at Mongol.

"...she'll be fine. Now then," he said, rubbing his hands together, "Arch Attorney and I will drop down this skylight..." He gestured to the large square sheet of glass beside him. "...while you and TA drop down that one over there," he concluded, pointing across the roof.

Conc knelt down near his skylight and scraped a fingernail across the grimy, nearly opaque glass. "I can't see a thing through this. Are you sure that this is safe?"

"There couldn't be more than ten or fifteen people in there. It's a piece of cake, as your people say."

"So why aren't we using the front door?"

"Drama."

* * *

The skylight exploded downward, shattering in a cacophony of tinkling glass and broken shards as the two figures dropped down into the dusty interior of the warehouse. Their sudden appearance came as a complete and utter surprise to the occupants, who were too stunned by the appearance of a large man in a white robe and coolie hat and a red-skinned woman in a business suit to do anything but gape at them in shock. Sadly, Mystic Mongol's plan had two now-glaring faults: The first was that the two skylights opened up onto two entirely separate rooms, keeping Cpt. Concussion and the Tiny Activist from quickly joining them, or vice versa.

"Ha ha! Oh wow, there's a lot of you guys in here!"

The second was that the population of the warehouse was closer to the high dozens.

Arch Attorney removed her sunglasses. "It would seem," she said, sliding them into her coat pocket, "that your earlier estimate was a bit off."

"A little," he replied, totally nonplussed by the overwhelming odds.

"I'm assuming that you have a contingency plan."

"Indeed I do." Reaching into his robe, he produced two handfuls of colorful wax-wrapped foodstuffs. "Delicious Hostess® Fruit Pies!" He hurled them towards the gang members. "With real fruit filling and a tender flaky crust!"

The gang members drew their weapons, completely ignoring the snack pastries that landed before them.

"You do understand that those were merely heavily-embellished advertisements, yes?"

"They worked against the Diabolical Diabetic."

"Extenuating circumstances. I'm assuming that you have _another_ contingency plan."

"Indeed I do." Mongol gestured, and the ground before him burst into flame. A flailing mass of flaming monkeys rose up from the blaze, chittering angrily before leaping headlong into the throngs of hooligans, clawing and scraping at the now-panicked mob. "Magic fire monkeys!"

While Mongol's attention was momentarily diverted, a pack of Skulls behind the two heroes rushed forward. Reacting quickly, Arch spun about and aimed a finger at them, her hand snapping back as if recoiling from an invisible gun. The space in front of them seemed to buckle inward before snapping back outward with a muffled "THWOOM," violently hurling the thugs away from the anomaly. Before they had even hit the ground, however, several more stepped forward to take their place. "I see they've not learned how dangerous it is to deal with my kind." Thin wisps of fire trailed up from her eyes as a cruel smirk played across her lips. "We'll have to remedy that, won't we?"

Mongol paused briefly in his sorcerous gestures and incantations (that, for reasons unknown, strangely resembled popping and locking) to glance behind him. "Oh boy, she's doing the flaming eyes thing. You guys are in _trouble_."

* * *

Conc's fist slammed into the side of the Hellion's jaw, sending him staggering backwards. "Damn it," he hissed through gritted teeth, "why did Mongol have to pair himself off with Arch? We could have used one of them over here." Another thug stepped forward, brandishing a knife. A haymaker to the gut doubled him over long enough for Conc to deliver a knee to his face, putting him down for the count. "Especially Arch. Isn't she supposed to know about demon worshippers?"

"Most of those 'demons' are just figures in older religions that the Christians _called_ demons so-" Tiny cut her words short as she ducked a clumsy punch, retaliating with a rising palm strike that wouldn't have been half as painful for the Hellion had it been performed by anyone whose normal punching height was at anything but groin level. The Hellion let out a whine before falling over. "-so they could justify their snuffing out of other faiths as some sort of holy war."

"So why are you fighting them?"

A series of quick kicks to the midsection put another thug down for the count. "Because they're misogynists. I haven't seen a single woman in here."

"Fine, whatever. Just make sure we don't get-"

With a loud cry Tiny charged away from Conc, somersaulting over the heads of several gang members and landing in the middle of a dense mob, lashing out in a whirlwind of questionably righteous fury.

"...separated." He elbowed another thug in the face, who stumbled backwards clutching his nose. "Great." Suddenly Conc's head lurched forward as he felt something collide with his skull - or rather, his helmet. He wasn't hurt by the attack, though it did pique his curiosity, and he turned to see who was responsible. "...what kind of idiot would hit someone wearing a-" As it turned out, the person responsible was someone very familiar. "...YOU."

The Hellion blanched. "Y-you?!"

"YOU!!" Slapping the bat out of his hands, he grabbed him by the collar. "So, do you think my helmet is still funny?! HUH?!"

"Please don't hurt me please don't hurt-"

"Do you know what time it is?" he asked, grinning evilly.

"-pleasedon'thurtmepleasedon'thurtme-"

"It's time to RIDE THE BUFFALO!!"

"-pleasedon'thurtmeeAAAAHHHH!!"

Picking him up by the collar Conc half-threw, half-dumped him overhead, dropping him unceremoniously onto two of his comrades before reaching down and grasping both of his legs. Pivoting, he swung him around, quickly building up momentum and bowling over those foolish enough to approach him before leaning back and releasing him. As the hapless teen was sent screaming into the air Conc charged after him, lunging forward as they neared the door for one of the warehouse's side rooms.

* * *

"You-know," LoveBot said, "it's-really-nice-to-finally-meet-someone-that-isn't-overwhelmed-by-my-affections. I-can-come-on-a-little-strong-sometimes."

"No, I'm totally down with that. 'cause, like, I can handle women, you know?" The Skull ran a hand through his hair, pulling out a large clump in the process. Looking at it in bewilderment for a second, he shook the hairs off his hand and onto the floor near the prone form of one of his comrades. Said comrade - along with several of his peers - had no reaction to it, as they had all collapsed a while ago. The one left standing, in turn, had no reaction to their plight because hey, hot chick.

Then Cpt. Concussion tackled a Hellion through the door, picked him up, suplexed him, then picked him up again and hurled him out of the room before running after him. The moment was lost, to say the least.

"Friends of yours, dude?"

LoveBot nodded sadly. "They-might-need-my-help."

"Okay, well, like, I don't really know those guys, so you can do whatever, okay?"

"You-mean-you-would-pick-me-over-your-friends?" she asked, blushing.

"Well, you know, if you love something then, like, let it go and if it loves you back it'll, uh, come back and stuff."

"Wow...-that's-so-profound."

The Skull nodded. "Totally."

LoveBot smiled and headed for the door, but before she joined the melee she turned back and blew him a kiss, leaving a heart-shaped second-degree burn on his forehead. The Skull, touched by LoveBot's display of love, returned to school to complete his education and reform his wicked ways. Additionally, touched by LoveBot's massive output of radiation, he later underwent a startling, dramatic mutation that resulted in his offspring having remarkably low white blood cell counts. Though seemingly minor, this was enough to grant them entry to several prestigious metahuman colleges on scholarships. From these beginnings they entered into the field of biochemistry, eventually setting to work on a fast-growing, disease-resistant and nutrient-rich strain of wheat that could grow on only one-third the water of regular wheat. Alas, before they could complete their development the universities would pull their funding, citing their project's impracticality in the face of other departments such as battle armor development, Moreauan genetic engineering and sentient lichen cultivation.

But that's neither here nor there.

* * *

The Skull tumbled down the hallway and into the warehouse's makeshift office, being bounced along and through the remaining cubicle walls by a series of Arch's anomalies. A cannily-aimed distortion pitched him upward into a high arc before a second appeared just above him, tossing him him down into a trash can.

"Okay," Mongol said, entering the office, "so you can make that shot."

Arch blew a wisp of smoke from her fingers. "Naturally."

Across the room there was a loud, dull thud as Cpt. Concussion kicked the door open, dislodging one of its hinges in a shower of sawdust and splinters. Dragging a thoroughly-beaten Hellion behind him, he crossed the room with Tiny and LoveBot before hoisting the thug up by the collar and belt and depositing him head-first into the can alongside the Skull. Mongol looked at him expectantly.

"...what?" Conc growled.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Such as?"

"A snappy line centered around how you dispatched him, like, 'I totally trashed him!' or 'wait there, garbage pickup is on Tuesday.'"

Conc glared at him. "Go to hell."

"That's not very snappy."

"Orcus, Agni," an accented voice sing-songed from somewhere out of view. "I'm going to pretend that what I think is happening out there isn't actually happening, even though it most likely _is_ because you two redefine incompetent leadership..." A nude, blood-covered, black-winged woman stepped around the corner and, upon seeing the Jerks, sighed and rubbed her eyes. "...and what I think is happening _is_ happening," she deadpanned. "Just wonderful."

"...why is there a nude woman here?" Conc asked.

"It's a perfectly legitimate lifestyle choice," Tiny replied.

"You don't hear me complaining, do you?"

Arch took her sunglasses out of her pocket and slid them back into place. "Lady Elizabeth Bathory, I presume."

"Arch Attorney, how pleasant to see you here." Bathory's voice was not entirely without sarcasm. "How goes the zombiepocalypse project?"

"I'm not entirely certain I understand what you mean," she replied, looking pointedly at the others out of the corner of her eye.

"Is there something we should know about?" Conc asked.

"It's not something you should concern yourself with, Boris."

"It's a portmanteau of 'zombie' and 'apocalypse!' How can I not-"

"I take it," Bathory said testily, "you're not here to chat."

"We're here to stop your plan!" Tiny said.

"...my plan," Bathory said, after a moment of silence.

"That's right."

" _My_ plan," she repeated for emphasis.

"Yes, your plan."

She nodded. "Right, of course. Because, on a whim, I decided to come to earth to perform some ill-defined conquest of a city with the greatest number of occult specialists this side of the Vatican, throwing in my lot with an unwashed mass of uneducated teenagers whose knowledge of the occult was gained from playing gramophone records backwards." She looked at the Jerks with a combination of irritation and condescension. "Do you even _know_ what was being planned?"

"...no."

"No."

"Not particularly."

"I'm-just-here-for-the-cute-guys."

"Nope!"

"Fascinating! Neither do I! ...and do you know why? BECAUSE THOSE TWO CRETINS NEVER EVEN _HAD_ A PLAN! Evidently I was to show up and simply _hand_ them the city on a silver platter with no resources, a pathetic display of manpower..." She folded her arms across her chest and sighed, shaking her head.

"Yes, but-" Conc began.

"They're not even intelligent enough to trick a single young woman into coming here. As if one could even _find_ a virgin in this city..." She "hmph"ed. "It's not as if I do this because I particularly enjoy it, but I _try_ to be patient with them in the hopes that one of them might be even remotely successful." She gestured to her surroundings. "You can see how far _that_ gets me."

"But-"

"Do you think I _want_ to spend half my time in Hell and the other half in the employ of megalomaniacs with no foresight and a pitiful grasp of politics? For Quorthon's sake, I was a _countess!_ I had one of the finest educations of my time! The Hapsburgs even begged me to defend Vienna from the Turks! One would think that I would have _something_ to contribute when they start rambling on about some imbecilic utopian scheme or plan for conquest, but no. All I am to them is simply another tool on their road to absolute power."

"Um..."

"This is assuming that they know what they're getting into or don't instantly assume that, because I'm nude, female, have wings and reside in Hell, I'm some sort of..." Her tone became downright acidic. "...sex demon. Do you know what it's like to be summoned, only to find that the only reason you were called forth is because some elderly man with atrocious personal hygiene has a carnal interest in you? Or worse yet, some intoxicated college girl bent on sexual experimentation wants to try something that she read in an Anita Blake novel?"

Arch nodded empathically.

"...and then _you_ show up," she continued, her eyes starting to tear up, "utterly self-righteous and utterly convinced that somehow I'm some sort of co-conspirator, despite the whole 'summoned against my will' aspect, completely prepared to bludgeon me half to death - whatever-" she sobbed, "whatever _that_ counts for in my state - before sending me back from whence I came for the entire thing to start all over again with some _other_ indolent imbecile, and... and...!" Trailing off, she slowly fell to her knees as she burst into tears.

What followed was a very long, very uneasy silence.

"Hoo boy," Mongol muttered, "awkward."

"Emotionally vulnerable women," Conc said to himself. "My one weakness."

Tiny elbowed him in the thigh.

"What-do-we-do-now?" LoveBot asked the others.

Stepping forward, Arch Attorney reached down and took Bathory by her hand, helping her to her feet. "Come now, stand up. This is unbecoming conduct." She pulled a handkerchief from her breast pocket and handed it to her. Sniffling, Bathory gingerly took it and wiped the tears from her eyes, blood trickling down from places unknown to cover up the spots that had been wiped clean. "There. Feeling better?"

Bathory nodded. "Somewhat."

"Now that I think of it, I believe that I may be able to... arrange a position for you with some associates of mine."

She sniffed. "Really?"

"It's not quite on par with running a country, but it is a far sight better than what you've had to endure."

* * *

"Quite nice of you to lend me one of your suits on such short notice," Bathory said, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves. "A pity about my having to slice the back of it open, though." She stretched her wings for emphasis.

"I wouldn't concern myself with such trivial matters if I were you; it was taking up space in my closet better used for other attire. But I still don't understand how _that_ happened," Arch said, referring to the deep crimson hue of her clothes. "You put it on not more than fifteen minutes ago."

"You were the one who suggested I wear white, for some unfathomable reason... I am grateful that you granted me a position in your firm, however."

"You possess a varied background; I've no doubts that you'll be able to perform your duties admirably."

"Naturally. I can't tell you how good it feels to finally be doing something _worthwhile_ for someone."

The Bailiff cleared his throat. "All rise for the honorable Judge Franklin. The case of the People versus Scissorman is now in session."


End file.
